


Déjà Blue

by Lurea



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-08-29 01:13:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16734207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurea/pseuds/Lurea
Summary: Blue was staring at him expectantly, one eyebrow raised.  He sighed and went on to answer the underlying question.  "Yes, Blue, if I have to give youthattalk, yes, people still have sex.  It's still fun, despite the world being shi—sucky.  You probably haven't spent much time where people are looking for sex—places like—"  He had to take a deep breath, eyes carefully averted, "The Dugout.  Bunker Hill.   Goodneighbor.  I’m not a virgin, I’ve had sex.  I also masturbate, when I’m in, y’know, a safe space.  Alone."  He was trying to make his tone as matter of fact as possible but he could feel his cheeks burning.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a more Blue-focused story, that happens concurrently with my Fool Me Once series. I've mentioned a couple of deleted scenes that I might expand. Here's one! This story takes place after Blue hires MacCready but before they run into Deacon. Specifically: between Not Relaxing in Diamond City and Shame on You.

"Perfect shot, MacCready!" Blue exclaimed, leaning perilously forward over the edge of the parking garage. MacCready was still watching the target intently through his scope. The mutant was down, and damn if it didn't look permanent. He breathed out slowly and lowered the gun.

"I can't believe that worked,” he said and looked over at her. She had scrambled onto the low wall around the top of the parking garage and was leaning forward to look down the street. 

“Um, boss. Watch out, okay?” He shifted closer so that he could grab her if she started to slip. She shot him an amused glance and stepped back down onto the flat concrete. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "I guess you're the proud new owner of a mini-nuke." 

She gave him a thumb’s up and then made for the downward ramp. He waited, keeping a close eye on all the sightlines. They'd snuck through the garage and cleared out the ghouls without attracting any attention from the super-mutants up the street. Set up a temporary camp on the top level and watched the mutants until they had a sense of their routine. Then Dogmeat had lured the suicider into chasing him. The suicider followed him around a corner and Blue and Mac laid into it with silenced rifles, until it went down and stayed down. 

Fifteen different things could have gone wrong, but they didn’t. Flat amazing in MacCready’s experience, but that was the boss for you. She was just...lucky. 

A few minutes later, she came creeping back up the stairs, holding her prize. She set it into the padded case reverently and looked up with a grin. MacCready held up his palm for her to slap, which was something she liked to do when she felt like she'd accomplished something special. She responded enthusiastically and said, laughing: "Holding. Offense. Ten-yard penalty. Automatic first down." 

He blinked. Wondered what that meant. She saw the confusion in his face and laughed harder, clutching one arm over her mid-section just as the mutant had done when Mac's last gut-shot tore through him. Then she sagged down to her knees and bent over, still making noises that.... sorta approximated laughter, in his experience. 

"Blue?" He said hesitantly. "You okay?" They'd just started working together a couple of weeks ago and while he couldn't complain about the jobs or his share of the loot, he didn't feel like he knew her well enough to push if she said no. 

She brought both hands up to cover her face and shook her head. Made a choked noise. He knelt down next to her and patted her shoulder, feeling awkward. "What is it?" 

She crumpled down until her face was on her knees, her body twisted like a pretzel. He switched to rubbing her back comfortingly, thinking about the apocalypse and how shitty it must be to wake up to this world instead of being born into it. When her breathing finally slowed to hitching shudders, she said, "I—I just realized that the NFL is dead, RJ. And soccer. The World Cup. The Olympics—it's all gone." She turned her face on her knees so that she could look up at him and added impatiently, "Sports, you know?" 

"Oh. People still play football sometimes," he said, wondering if he found her a football if that would make her feel better. "Did you like playing?" 

Her face crumpled again, and she pressed one hand over her eyes. "Just shut up, RJ, please?" Then she jumped to her feet and said, "It’s not just that. Two thousand years of civilization. Driving to work. Cars, oh Christ, I miss cars. Foamy mocha lattes to drink. Books, New York Times bestsellers, computers, prime time TV. Clothing that smells new. Cheeseburgers made from cows, not uh, mutants. French fries, ice cream, chocolate," she went on in an increasingly-angry voice. Pacing back and forth. "Chit-chat. How are you today, Joanne? Guess what, Donald got early acceptance at Columbia, but he's still hoping for Princeton or Cal Tech. Before you know it, you’ll be going through this with Shaun! Have you decided on a pre-school yet? Not yet, Joanne, but thanks for the good wishes! I'll keep my fingers crossed for Donald! And—you know what, Mac? That dumbass kid never had a hope of getting into Cal Tech. Good thing the world ended before January offer letters went out." She laughed harshly and scrubbed roughly at her eyes. "And that dumbass kid, Joanne, they're just bones now. Scattered dust."

Mac only understood about half of what she'd said. He looked at her in confusion. "I—I thought you were a soldier." 

"I was promoted, first woman ever in my slot, and I was being groomed for a political career! I could have been president!" She yelled and he half-raised a hand, looking around nervously. Still nothing stirring close by. She went on, "Do you know what that meant? I had co-workers, supporters, time off and a schedule! I was—I was photogenic. Young up-and-coming with a baby and a stay-at-home war-hero spouse—I could have—” She put one hand over her face and her shoulders hitched. “Oh, god. If only I could have stopped it.” 

He patted her shoulder hesitantly. "I'm sorry," he said. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. _Yeah, the world sucks, I’d hate to be you_. Of course, she had gotten thirty years of the old world, way more than anyone else currently alive had gotten. He felt a flicker of resentment, nothing new, when he thought about it. And those Pre-war folks had pissed it all away. Why hadn’t more of them done something, anything? If everything was so rich and swell, why did they let those leaders that Blue talked about launch the bombs in the first place? Of course, it was a long way to DC. Maybe it had all happened too fast. 

She sighed, her shoulders sagging under his hand. He kept patting awkwardly, a little nonplussed. This was the first time she’d shown anything resembling weakness or grief. When people recognized her from Piper’s newspaper, she gave them a cold stare and they generally shut up. He’d known within ten minutes of meeting her that the ‘hope for the future’ talk from the article was so much bullsh—er, crap, meant to sell copies and make her more sympathetic, and not what she really thought of the here-and-now. Even so, he’d never guessed the emotions hiding beneath her chilly façade. 

She straightened up and moved away, visibly assembling her normal demeanor. She cleared her throat and said, “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now, one day at a time, and all that crap.” 

Tears had made a clean path through the dirt on her face but her expression was back to being the Blue he knew. Hard and closed off. “One thing bothers me, though. Do people still do human crap like love each other, have babies, worry about them, try to get them a better life? Do you talk about anything except death and mutants, and blood and guns?" 

He was taken off-guard by the sudden change in subject and the confrontational tone of her voice. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “Sure we do.” Suppressing sudden thoughts of Duncan, crawling up onto his lap, brown hair mussed and sticking up in the back. Then pointing to his knee. _This bump hurts, daddy_. Familiar twist of pain in his midsection. 

He pushed the memory away, trying to keep his expression impassive. “Don’t be silly. You’ve seen kids,” he went on, hoping that would satisfy her. 

Her eyes narrowed and searched his. He hadn’t told her about Duncan yet. She had the skills to help him, sure, but could he trust her? 

She said, “I’ve seen a few. Four or five. Does anyone give a shit about them?” 

Lucy, in mortal pain and terror, screaming, “RJ, run! Run!” Using her last breath to tell him to get their child away. He was running blindly through the dark, stumbling in shock and then finding himself and Duncan outside the Temple of the Union with no memory of how they’d gotten there. 

His fingers were cold on his rifle strap. Same rifle. He could afford better now, thanks to Blue, but he knew this gun, he could make almost impossible shots with it. “Yeah, people still care about their children. They do what they can to protect them but in case you hadn’t noticed, Blue, it’s a pretty damn hard world out there and sometimes we lose them anyway!” He realized that his voice was raised but couldn’t bring himself to lower it. “And then we don’t like to fu—freakin' talk about it!” 

She stared at him evenly for an instant, and he was revealing too much, but he didn’t care. He glared back at her and then dropped his gaze to his pack. Eyes burning, he yanked open the top and pulled out a bottle of water. Took a long drink and then a deep breath. Night was falling and since they’d gone to all the trouble of clearing this place out, they might as well spend the night here. He glanced up at Blue and saw her regarding him curiously. He wondered if she was going to pry, but she looked away. 

“Okay, sorry,” she said, instead. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not that she wasn’t pursuing the obvious opening. “But I still don’t get why there’s so few. Pioneers and farmers historically had as many as they could feed. And birth control doesn’t seem to be a thing anymore. Do people just not have sex?” 

“Wait,” he said. “Sex causes babies?” He let his eyes widen and mouth fall open. “Wow, Blue, we didn’t know that. This is news. Did you tell Piper, because she should probably publish that.” 

She gave him a quick glance and he let his exasperation show. “Really, Blue?” 

She was nothing if not stubborn, and instead of dropping it, went on. "I've seen no evidence of people fucking, Robert. Precious little PDA, no one's hit on me, everyone seems to go home alone and drunk most of the time. Jesus Christ, is the world so shitty that people don't fuck anymore?" 

She pointed a finger at him and he winced in advance, wondering what else she would come up with. But even after bracing himself, her next question was a stunner. "You don't even jerk off, Mac, why?" 

He snapped his mouth closed and turned away. What the fu—he couldn't deal with this. Her caps were in the front pocket of his pack, well, most of them were, anyway. He could pull them out, hand them back and just—leave. Walk off this garage, get away from this madwoman. This two-hundred year old frozen icicle, relic of a time when all the cars actually worked and people shared fancy drinks at work and then ate chocolate, and—and chatted about their families. Because why not? Their families were safe and happy and going to...college, whatever the hell that meant. 

Instead of here where you had to kill what you ate, or sold, or scavenged. Where nothing worked and most of the stuff that she’d talked about was so far out of his experience that it was almost unimaginable. MacCready sighed, feeling sympathy despite himself. When you put it that way, it was surprising that she wasn’t even crazier. He sat down on the sleeping bags they'd spread out by the low wall of the garage. "Do I want to know how you know that I haven't uh, _that_ , since we've been traveling?" 

She had the grace to look embarrassed. "Look, I told you that I was....enhanced, to be a better soldier. Well, using this—" she tapped the screen of her Pip-boy, "I can modify my senses." She shifted around and avoided his eyes. "When we sleep, I’ve been upping my hearing so I could hear your breathing and heartbeat. And you know, when everything stays even and steady for hours, it's pretty obvious there's no masturbation going on." She laughed nervously. "You aren't mad, are you? I just—I just didn't want anything to happen to you without me knowing, like an attack or something. I didn't think about the, uh, implications till later." 

He just shook his head wearily and looked straight up at the black sky. Why, why, why, did things have to be weird for him, at least as far as his sex life was concerned? First, that Railroad jerk kept dogging his footsteps, alternating blowing his brains and pissing him off and now his not-normal-at-all client is listening to his heartbeat at night. 

And _questioning_ him about it. "First of all, stop that, right now, I'm serious, Blue." She nodded in earnest agreement. He licked his lips before plunging ahead, with an internal grimace. "And second, sheesh, it would be...rude, to uh, masturbate when I'm around someone I don't even know very well, and someone who is...my boss." 

Ugh. Awkward. Not to mention that one time when he had managed to slip away from her far enough to feel comfortable, the interior fantasy figure that featured most prominently made him feel like sh—er...crap. Don’t fantasize about sexy spy jerks that take advantage of you, MacCready! And don’t fantasize about the boss, god, no. 

Blue was staring at him expectantly, one eyebrow raised. He sighed and went on to answer the underlying question. "Yes, Blue, if I have to give you _that_ talk, yes, people still have sex. It's still fun, despite the world being shi—sucky. You probably haven't spent much time where people are looking for sex—places like—" He had to take a deep breath, eyes carefully averted, "The Dugout. Bunker Hill. Goodneighbor. I’m not a virgin, I’ve had sex. I also masturbate, when I’m in, y’know, a safe space. Alone." He was trying to make his tone as matter of fact as possible but he could feel his cheeks burning. 

She was watching him carefully. "Tonight is the first time someone has touched me since I walked out of that fucking vault," she said softly. 

His brain leaped way ahead of her on that, and before he knew it, he said. "No. That's not why you're paying me." Then he immediately thought, _way to jump the gun, MacCready_. But when he looked over at her, she was frowning thoughtfully and his stomach dropped. Uh-uh. No way. Very bad idea, even if his dick immediately perked up at the thought. 

She said: " _Can_ I pay you?" And she didn’t sound like she was trying to insult him or anything, just genuinely curious, trying to navigate the casual sex mores of a new age. 

"No!" He said, half-angry and half-panicked. Because that was too hard of a question, and if she offered enough caps and gave him enough time to think about it... And Duncan. No. He'd promised to do better and...this wasn't the way to do it. 

“People don’t pay...” she said uncertainly. 

“Some people do,” he said, trying to imagine that this was a normal conversation, and not so hellishly awkward that he was about to jump off the top of this damn garage to get away from it. “Most don’t. I mean, most of the time, people just, uh, meet each other, maybe at a bar and have drinks, and hit it off and then, you know, go home together.” Trying not to think of Deacon sitting down across from him and smiling, his smooth sexy voice reeling off stupid pick-up lines, laughing.... 

She cocked her head. “You don’t?” 

“Uh, d’you mind if we drop this?” he asked and then cursed internally, because there was a thread of uncertainty in his tone and if he could hear it, Blue, with her fancy enhanced senses could probably hear it too. 

But instead of jumping on it, she frowned and rubbed one hand over her face. "Okay. I'm sorry, MacCready. I just—I just don't understand this place. I feel so alone." 

And he had to look away because right now, he was feeling so ...uh, exposed and off-balance, that he can't guarantee that some stupid reassurance won't pop out of his mouth and lead him into trouble. More trouble. Like he didn't already have a lifetime's worth of trouble that he should be thinking about sleeping with a boss that had treated him well and been unfailingly even splitting the loot. He's had more to send to Duncan lately than he'd had since he'd been running with the Gunners and that was saying a lot. They got talented people because they paid well. 

Then because he doesn't want to sit and think about it, he moved away from her, hopefully making his meaning obvious and dug around in their packs for food. He wasn't used to the casual way Blue spent money. MacCready suspected it was due to not being sure that this world was real. She got that shocked look in her eyes sometimes, that he’d seen on others, like they were walking through a dream—or a nightmare. He could have taken advantage of her a thousand times over—and he didn’t mean _that_ way, darn it, but in trade, in scavenging, in loot—and he hadn’t. Because he was doing better. He _was_. He was rattled enough that he was about to start a fire before he realized that they were on top of a parking garage and the light would be seen for miles. 

He looked around and spotted a crumpled metal barrel and dragged it over. Laid it on its side against the wall and kindled a small fire inside it, where the light would be concealed. Then he opened up a can of cram and one of pork and beans. Fresh from Diamond City surplus. And good enough mixed together to make his mouth water. 

"That's clever," Blue said and he jumped. He had almost forgotten that she was there. "Did you learn that in the Gunners?" 

"The Gunners?" He scoffed. "Their idea of roughing it is to kill everyone on a farm, eat their food, sleep in their beds and then move on the next morning." 

"That's awful," she said. But he noticed that she said in an abstract tone—like he would say if someone told him tomorrow that the Institute had say, killed everyone in Rivet City, for example. It was horrible and terrible, but he didn't know those people. Not anymore. There was just a vague sense of sympathy and the feeling that you have to say the right thing to show you weren’t a monster. 

He turned the cans so they would heat evenly and stirred the beans. "Yep, well, that's why I left." There had been a conspicuous lack of news about Quincy. He didn’t know if Deacon had been in time. Or if it would have even mattered. The Gunners were too strong, maybe, even with a warning. He’d never thought to ask Deacon the times he’d run into him. Too busy thinking about, uh, other things. 

"We did stuff like that, too," Blue said. He turned to stare at her as she went on. "I mean, we gave them American dollars—green pieces of paper—and we didn't kill them, not directly. But the other side killed them as soon as we left for the crime of 'sheltering foreigners.' We knew it would happen, but that didn’t stop us. " 

He couldn't think of anything to say. She put her hand over her eyes again, and said, "So people fuck, militaries suck and not much has changed. Overall." 

He swapped half of the cram for the beans and vice versa. Tricky, trying to avoid spilling the food onto the ground but it beat carrying dishes around. This way, they each had a can. He added a spoon to hers and scooted it over to her. "Well, the food's worse, so there's that." 

"Great," she said dryly and he laughed. Thought to himself that the danger was past. They sat in companionable silence to finish the food. Then he kicked the barrel so it rolled over several times, smothering the fire and scattering the embers. 

He pretended not to notice her wiping her eyes every now and then while she ate. Afterward, she shook out her sleeping bag and wrapped herself up in it. Dogmeat came skulking up the ramp, head low and tail wagging. Mutt probably smelled the leftovers. MacCready passed them over resignedly, although there was a time, not too long ago, that he would have been willing to shoot a dog before feeding it. 

Blue curled over and petted Dogmeat while he gave the cans a thorough licking. Mac watched them warily, finger on the trigger even though he'd never seen him act aggressive—not to Blue, anyway. He was death on raiders. He thought about what she'd said and thought about how familiar it was—the sick curl of shame, coupled with the approval from everyone around you. When no one else seemed to see the wrongness. He sighed. "Why did you tell me that?" 

She gave Dogmeat's ears a final ruffle and looked over at him. "Because I wanted you to know—I'm no better than you, Robert." She hesitated and then added, "And I trust you. I wouldn't have suggested—that—if I didn't." 

He was sitting by the low wall, ready to take first watch. Blue always offered to set an—an alert, she called it—on her Pipboy but he couldn't bring himself to trust it completely. Dogmeat finished up with the cans and bounded off on his own doggy business. Silence fell. And dragged. 

"Look, it's nothing against you," he said finally. "But casual sex and me hasn't worked out too well. The last person I was with, well, it's like karma slapped me upside the head and said, stop screwing around, MacCready." 

He half-turned away to watch the empty street below. Nothing in sight. So far. Blue turned over restlessly and bunched her pack underneath her head. "What happened?" she asked quietly. 

Because of course she did. What the—why had he brought this up again? Sheesh. Good job, MacCready. _Just_ what he wanted to talk about. He had a brief moment of wondering where Deacon was, what he was doing and if he was safe. "He was a spy after info on the Gunners. Yet another reason joining them was a such great idea. Once he got what he was after—well. We didn't exactly part on good terms." 

Remembering Deacon sprawled across the seats at Diamond City. _Fuck me_ , he’d said, and MacCready had almost done it, come _this_ close before recognizing what a fool he was being. Deacon wasn’t being sincere. He was _acting_ sincere and there was a difference. 

He pushed the thoughts away and looked over at Blue. Not even an eyelash flicker at the pronoun. He'd wondered if it would, her being Pre-war and all. Some of the old books made a big deal about it, which struck him as just plain stupid. People had different parts, but they all felt good. 

Blue frowned. "Secret agents. Fuck 'em all. You know how many good people I saw killed because of faulty intel?" 

MacCready shifted on the sleeping bag and idly brought his binoculars up to his eyes for a closer look around. "Well, we have that in common." 

Silence for a little while. But he could tell from her breathing that she wasn't asleep. He tried waiting her out and just got increasingly frustrated. "All right, say it," he said abruptly. 

She sat up and tucked her arms around her knees and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "It's just—I haven't felt anything since I got out. I'm starting to wonder if I'm a synth.”


	2. Chapter 2

Her voice was shaking. “Maybe I’m not real. Maybe I died in the vault with N—with my family. I told you the Institute has an interest in me. Maybe I’m a synth, an experiment."

The tension in her voice was familiar. He remembered those first few days at the Temple, how unreal everything had seemed. How could the world go on, without Lucy in it? How could he? He had floated around in a fog of grief, barely able to keep Duncan fed and clean. "You're not a synth, Blue. I'm not. We both remember our childhoods, growing up, right? That means we're not synths."

She took a deep breath. "Do synths have—do they have sex? I mean, I’ve never seen Dogmeat act interested in other dogs. 

He frowned, unhappy at the reminder of her weird dog. "I don’t know. Maybe he’s a special case. And you’re sure he’s a synth?" 

She shrugged. “I told you. He was Father’s present to me. Waiting for me as soon as I got out of the Vault, pre-trained to be a guardian and watchdog. He doesn’t need to eat or sleep and I’ve never seen him, uh, you know. That's one way, I—I could be sure." He opened his mouth to argue but she added hastily, "More sure." She rolled over and clasped his hand. "Please, Mac. I trust you."

Her words rendered him speechless. After a long moment, he managed to say, "You were married a month ago. You ready to screw some stranger?"

She looked away. "You're not a stranger."

“I’m not a stranger, I’m your employee,” he said pointedly. Pulled his hand out of hers. “Maybe your friend.”

She didn’t say anything more and he started to think that he’d managed to head that off. Sex derailed more good partnerships than anything and the last thing that he needed was Blue either hating him or in love with him. Jeez, that sounded egotistical, but still the concept was right. She pointed, he shot, they split the loot. Why mess up a beautiful thing with sex?

He shifted uncomfortably on the sleeping bag. All this talking and thinking about sex had gotten him hard. It had been over a week! A stiff breeze could get him hard. He thought about Deacon, on his knees in Hancock’s office, looking up at him and smirking, the jerk, and his cock _ached_. But there was no freaking way he was gonna touch a hand to himself with her around. Despite the promise, he didn’t really trust that she wouldn’t have her ears turned up anyway, listening to him. 

He ran his fingers over his rifle for reassurance and found a few gritty spots. Right. Clean it. The routine task would get his mind off ... _other_ things and that would give Blue a chance to fall asleep. Then he’d sneak down a level of the garage and get some relief. He glanced at the Pipboy on her arm distrustfully. Maybe two levels.

He took his kit out of his pack and snapped it open, took out rags, oil, rod and brush. Brushed the barrel thoroughly then set it down and picked up the rod. Threaded a scrap of rag onto the hole at the end and carefully guided it into and down the barrel. Remove, replace, again. The repetitive motions were soothing, the shush-swish of the rag the only sound in the quiet night.

Blue stirred and opened her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He knew he sounded snippy, but it had been a rough night. 

She propped her head on an elbow. “We had disposable pre-treated gun-cleaning cloths when I was in the military.”

“Yet another thing that sucks,” he answered. Pulled the rag out and examined it closely. Looked pretty good. 

“So you put oil on that and run it up and down and up and down, until it’s finished?” If the words were innocent, her tone was not, silky with innuendo and promises.

He was aware of heat in his face even before the sentence assembled in his mind. “Stop that.” He glanced over at her. 

She had rolled over onto her belly and her eyes were gleaming in the dark. She went on, as if he hadn’t spoken, her tone a low purr. “When I was a grunt, some guys liked to rub it up and down _fast_ and _hard_ and some liked to do it really _slow_ and _gentle._ Slow and gentle took longer, but I always thought it was worth it in the end.” 

Aaand _now_ he was hard again. Damn it. He was going to ignore it and her. He poured some oil onto another rag and started wiping down the gun’s exterior. 

She sniffed. “Mmmm. Smells good. Reminds me of Basic. If you want, I could help you clean your rifle.”

He had to moisten his mouth and clear his throat before he could answer. “I-I’m fine.”

“You sure? I wouldn’t mind getting some oil on my fingers, get it all glistening and hot and slick and rub it up and down until it was so wet and shiny--”

He closed his eyes, which was a mistake because then he immediately started picturing what she was saying, and not to his rifle, but to his _dick._ Jesus... He drew a ragged breath. _Think about something else_.

“Then I’d get a little bit of saliva on the rag and use that to really polish it up, rubbing it in these nice long up and down strokes, over and over and over--” 

His hands fumbled, hesitated and nearly caught on the trigger. Crud. Even though he was sure it was unloaded, he friggin' knew better. It was clean enough anyway. He couldn’t... He set the rifle down, put the components back into his kit and snapped it closed. Then he took a deep breath. 

Blue’s voice trailed off. “Oh, are you—done?”

It took some effort to keep his voice flat and even, pretending that he was unaffected by her antics. “I think you’re fixated on this because you’re scared and you don’t want to sleep alone,” he said. “I get it. There’s been a few nights where I didn’t want to sleep alone either. But Blue, this isn’t a case where you can just get what you want and move on—unless you’re planning on getting rid of me tomorrow.”

She looked down guiltily and sighed. Then flopped over on her back. “There you go again, MacCready, being all thoughtful and human and stuff. You’re making hard for me to objectify you.”

He laughed shortly. “Good.” He hesitated and then went on, “I’m more than just a guy that’s good with a rifle. I, uh, I had a family once too. My wife Lucy, she’s been dead for a few years and my son Duncan, he’s with some friends. I had to leave him behind to come to the Commonwealth.” 

She didn’t respond. He was hyperaware of Blue’s gentle breathing, the way her chest in the Vault suit rose and fell. Traveling together made modesty difficult and he had seen a few slips, enough to imagine the creamy tone of her flesh, practically unmarked by Wasteland standards. Lucy had been shorter than him and he could lift up in his arms when they made love, sit her on his lap. The boss was a little taller, with a commanding vibe that had him imagining her riding him, giving him orders in that low sexy voice. 

He lay down carefully on his sleeping bag, feeling a twinge of discomfort from his groin. He tried to convince himself—and his cock—that this was for the best. Again, sex, problems, blah, blah, blah. 

She turned over on her side and looked at him thoughtfully. He could see the shine of her eyes in the dim moonlight. “There was a thing, Pre-war,” she said, and suddenly the purring tone of her voice was back. “It was called, oh, a standing offer, or a special understanding between two people.” 

“I feel like this is going to be some sex thing,” he said, with an outwardly exasperated tone to his voice that belied how his pulse had kicked up a notch. “How did you guys have time? I mean, with all the jobs and coffee and chit-chat?”

She chuckled, low and throaty and propped up one elbow. “You’d be surprised. Humans have always managed to fit sex in somewhere. Anyway, people—friends—could have understandings that didn’t mean things had to get messy or awkward. It just needed people to talk it out and y’know. Be mature.”

His arousal was making it hard to remember all those reasons that had seemed so compelling ten minutes ago. He turned over on his side to look at her. “Be mature? So what, that means you don’t kick me out tomorrow when you wake up filled with regret that you slept with some grubby sniper?”

He only realized that he'd said 'when' and not 'if' when she smiled with an edge of triumph. Cursed inwardly. She reached over to clasp his shoulder, gently…almost affectionately. The warm press of her fingers did…things to his groin. Crossing another silent boundary because they'd been conspicuously hands-off up to this point, other than an occasional brush of hands when passing things back and forth. “Regret sex? Now who’s talking crazy?”

He took a deep breath. Okay, enough, he was done. He leaned close enough until he could look into her eyes and touched the base of her throat, just above the top snap of her suit. “See, now there’s all this pressure. So I say yes... What if I suck or screw up?”

She grinned. “It’s been two hundred years, Robert. I’m hardly in a position to complain.” Her gaze swept down the front of his clothing and her breath caught. “I really want to touch you,” she said softly. 

He has both a moment of appreciation that she was leaving it up to him, with an instant of irritation that she wouldn't just grab him and make the decision for both of them. He finally nodded and she flattened her hand on his stomach and then slid it down slowly. Found the warm weight of his cock in his pants and closed her hand around it gently. “Oh god,” she whispered. “You feel so good, fuck.” 

He kept himself still with an effort while she explored, her touch light and delicate. “Well?” he asked, when she paused. 

She finally closed the distance between and pressed close. “Yeah,” she said huskily. Then put one hand on the back of his neck. “Now kiss me because I’m dying to know what that scruff feels like.”

That was better, made things feel lighter and cheerful, and stopped the frantic voice in the back of his head. He leaned forward and touched their lips together, gently, tentatively. Don’t slobber all over her, MacCready, he thought. But any preconceptions that he might have had about the boss being a two-hundred-year-old Pre-war person—back when everything was so safe and easy and pretty—and how they probably had the cleanest, most polite sex ever back then... Anyway, those were all pretty quickly demolished when she opened her mouth under his and her tongue darted out to rub along his own before she caught his lower lip between her teeth, just briefly enough to barely sting, but more than long enough to make him start. Damn, that was....uh. 

His hands tightened on her shoulders involuntarily and she made a stifled noise in the back of her throat. Then she tilted her head sideways and kissed him even deeper, her tongue tickling along his, until he started getting almost dizzy with lust. 

He tugged at the zipper of her Vault suit and it released in one long smooth slide to her waist. She wasn’t wearing anything but a short tee-shirt underneath it and her breasts were soft and full and impossibly enticing. He shoved the shirt upwards until he could touch her, delicately tracing over the curves, around the areola, skating over her nipples. They hardened under his fingers and he increased the gentle pressure, no hurry, there, watching the way that it made her swallow and take a breath, which moved them temptingly closer to his face. His mouth. He kissed down the side of her neck and pulled the Vault suit off her shoulder and down to her elbow, shifting his weight over her. Pressed down into her body, pressed against the jointure of her thighs, where she burned as hot as a fire. 

Then he licked teasingly across the hardened nubs, once, twice before opening his mouth and sucking lightly. That was something Lucy had always liked. She sucked in her breath and grabbed the back of his head, pushing his head down forcefully and he grinned against her flesh. She spread her legs under his and wrapped then around his waist. 

He pushed forward against her, once, twice and she sucked in her breath and dug her fingers into his back, her nails digging into the cloth of his shirt. He was thinking about how good her hands would feel on his skin instead of on his clothing, as he rolled one nipple between his fingers and sucked on the other, flicking his tongue over the tip in a way that made her groan and then push at his shoulders. “Wait, wait.”

He pulled away and wiped his mouth. “Did I hurt you?” he asked. 

Her eyes were wide with surprise. “Fuck, I’m about to come.” 

“Oh well, that’s a good thing, right?” he said, a little hesitantly. She still had her legs around his waist and she kept moving, squirming against his cock, rocking it against her clit. Made it hard for him to think about anything except ripping the rest of their clothing off and sinking into her warmth. Controlled himself with an effort. Her show. If she wanted to make out for thirty minutes first, then that was what they would do. Although—he bit his lip as one particular movement dragged the head of his cock against her cleft—he might come in his pants if she kept this up. 

“Oh god,” she said, breathing out hard. “I--I’m not sure I should, I mean, I want you to fuck me, too.”

He looked at her quizzically. “Uh, well, yeah. We can do both.” He moved over sideways and pulled away enough to put some space between their bodies and get his dick some breathing room. Then he pulled her suit down to her hips revealing the loose men’s underwear that she was wearing. He flattened one hand against her mound, feeling heat and warmth. “You’re wet.” 

She angled her hips against his hand. “Yeah, genius. I did say I was about to come. _About_ to.”

Yeah, yeah, everybody’s a critic. She sounded distinctly horny and yearning. And _he’d_ put that tone in her voice. He smiled down at her. He slid one hand into her underwear and against her soft damp curls, watching her. Her skin was so soft and fine, no scars anywhere except for some reddish stripes across the tops of her thighs. Stretch marks, he remembered. Lucy had gotten them, too, across her belly, while she was carrying Duncan. After a while, they faded to a pale silvery grey. Her thighs tensed as he stroked her, across the little nub and then lower to dip inside her briefly, then up again, his fingers shining with moisture and leaving her trembling. 

Her lips parted on quick little pants of desire. “Oh, that’s good, Mac.” He leaned over to nuzzle his face against her breasts, alternating quick little tongue-flicks with shorter, firmer strokes and she thrust upward against his hand and mouth and cried out. He hastily muffled her mouth with his and she clung to him in a death grip as spasms of pleasure wracked her frame. 

When she quieted, he leaned back and waited for her to open her eyes. “So, good, right?” he said, grinning. “Was that your first orgasm in, you know,” he waved a hand vaguely. 

“In two hundred years?” she asked archly and then laughed. “Yeah, it was. That was ...pretty awesome.” She focused in on him with a faintly predatory look. “And now, best of all, I get to do it again.”

He reached down, fumbling with his belt in his haste. He’d enjoyed getting her off, but man, he was so hard it hurt and just about desperate for some action. She unbuttoned his shirt and then slid it off his shoulders, and then pulled both his tee shirts off over his head. He got up on his knees, and shoved his pants down, freeing his cock, tip shiny with pre-come. She reached up and took him in hand, jacking him while he struggled to kick his pants off. He got them off one ankle and gave it up, moving forward between her legs. The sight of her, open and wet before him, made him push her hand away. “Stop that or this’ll be over way too soon,” he said. 

Then he grabbed her thigh and spread her legs more, before thrusting forward and working himself into her with a groan. Quick, shallow strokes that got gradually deeper until he was buried inside her, then pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. 

“Oh, oh, fu—, oh god!” he said, remembering faintly to keep his voice down. He moved forward over her and she clasped her arms and legs around him, heels digging into the small of his back and fingernails in the skin of his shoulders. She pulled him higher, changing the angle and he panted against her neck, smelling sweat and the clean sharp smell of her arousal on her damp skin. He finished each stroke with a twisting grind against her clit, which had her bucking up against him and making a little whine in her throat when he pulled back. He had to dig his fingers into the concrete by her head to keep from blowing it immediately, just coming all over her, filling... Okay, not helping, MacCready. 

Instead, he took a moment to remember, yeah, he really wanted her to come again, to come as hard as before so that he could feel what all those little tremors and spasms felt like when she was wrapped around his dick. He shifted again, enough to get his hand between them and stroke her as he thrust forward slowly. Kinda awkward but he had always been good with his hands. He snapped his hips forward and closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, while he circled her clit with his fingers and then stroked directly over the nub. She flushed and gasped, “Oh, fuck yes, do that again!”

He did, dragging fingers slowly across, feeling the movements from his own cock fucking into her and she made a fist and pounded on his shoulder frantically. “Oh, yes, yes, harder!” and then he finally lost the edge of his control and thrust forward with everything he had. She threw her head back and he felt her clench tightly and the quiver of her muscles shaking all around him as she came. 

Then he was coming, too, like his balls erupted through his dick, convulsing and contracting until he collapsed forward atop her, mind blank and body limp. 

“Holy shit,” he gasped. She was still breathing hard and he felt her nod. Every muscle was trembling, his arms and legs burned with exertion, and he probably had concrete rash on his knees. And he felt great. It took a few minutes for his breathing and his heart to slow down, and she was quiet underneath him. After a moment, he had the sudden thought that he was probably crushing her and moved sideways onto his hip. Almost immediately a grey curtain of fatigue wanted to roll over his mind, muscles relaxing, breathing easing and man, her body felt amazing.

Blue’s breathing slowly evened out and she stretched underneath him and then draped her arms over his shoulders. Began combing her fingers through his hair. His head was tucked into her shoulder and he was wondering whether it would be worth it to move onto his own sleeping bag. Her fingernails snagged on a tangle and God, even that felt good. 

Her chest expanded as she spoke. “I can’t believe you made me come twice. That was amazing.” 

He yawned. “Get out of here. That’s just, like, good manners. Girls can lots of times and boys just go once or twice.”

She giggled breathlessly. “Awww. You’re so sweet.” And he wasn’t sure what to say to that. Wasn’t that how they did it in the old days? 

He slid out of her as he softened and felt his come trickling down between their bodies. Oops. Messy. Suddenly he was wide awake. “Oh crap,” he said. He couldn’t believe that he had forgotten that and now what? With most wastelanders the chance of fooling around resulting in anything…more was slim to zero. But—he’d never been with someone like the boss. Healthy, no radiation damage and fertile, crap! He fought a sudden sense of panic that this would be what would make her send him away. She hadn’t said anything, though—maybe she hadn’t noticed? Or it didn’t matter? Tempting as it was to roll over and say nothing, it would be worse to ignore it. Even if that might make it easier in the short-term. He hesitated and then decided blunt was better. “Um, Blue, I, uh, I came inside you,” he said. 

She didn’t open her eyes but her lips quirked up in a smile. “I noticed,” she answered. 

He chewed his lip indecisively before continuing. “Uh, I can have kids, remember?”

Her forehead wrinkled and her eyes popped open and he had an instant to think, _oh shit, she forgot_ , before she said, “Well, I can’t, MacCready.”

He thought about the stretch marks and the occasional mentions of Shaun and when she tossed and turned at night, sometimes crying out stuff like Nate, no! He shut his mouth because it wasn’t any of his business whether she wanted to confide in him or not, but he couldn’t help feeling a little put out. He had eyes. He wasn’t stupid. C’mon. He’d been discrete and he _thought_ she _trusted_ him. 

She saw the look on his face and comprehension lit her features. “I mean, I can’t anymore. My implants, remember? Yay, two-hundred-year-old military tech.”

Wow. Wait, so even their soldiers could fuck all they wanted and not have to worry about babies... Jeez, the old world had had it even better than he could have imagined. And more importantly, he, they had nothing to worry about. He lay back down next to her and grabbed a rag out of his pants pocket. “Here, let me,” he said, and carefully wiped her thighs. “You don’t wanna mess up your suit.” 

She huffed a laugh and poked him in the belly. “Robert, you are a secret romantic.” 

“I am not!” he retorted. 

“Are too!” She sat and stretched lazily. “I can’t be romantic. I have to be mean and hard and ready to kill those bastards that took my son.” She slid her suit back up over her shoulders and zipped it up. She glanced at him sideways. “I’ll take first watch, okay? Get some sleep.”

He got the message. She was making it clear that this was a one-off, or at best, a sort of very-infrequent once-in-a-blue-moon kind of thing. Good. He felt himself relaxing. They didn’t need feelings or jealousy messing up their perfectly good, perfectly wonderful…uh, friendship. He guessed it was okay to call her that now, after what happened and telling her about Duncan. Maybe she could help him. He filed that away carefully. Maybe soon he'd be out from under Winlock and Barnes' thumbs. Blue sighed and leaned her chin on her knees, looking out over the wastes.

“Blue,” he said quietly. She didn’t move or respond. “Nor--”

Her shoulders jerked and she looked back at him. “Robert. I’ve decided—I’m not her, anymore. She’s dead and gone. From now on, I’m just Blue. Please.”

“Blue. We okay?” he said, just to double-check. 

She reached over and picked up his hand and brought it up to her mouth and kissed the back of it. He felt himself blushing and tried to pull away but her grip tightened to just this side of painful. She shifted on the sleeping bag and looked at him seriously. “You’re a good person, Robert. And a good friend. I don’t want you to think that I take that for granted.” She snorted. “I may have only been awake for a month, but I already know good people are rarer than hen’s teeth. We’re okay, hell, we’re better than okay.”

She smiled at him and set his hand back down. “Thank you, Robert. You made me feel human again and I'll never forget that.” 

_/The End/_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In typical me fashion, there will be at least one more Blue story and I'll try to get it posted before Shame On Me. I hope you enjoy!


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